Unfree
by MisterSusan
Summary: AU story in which Jean is sold into slavery to the rich and powerful Arlerts. How will he cope with his new life, far from the comfort he's always wanted? And what is it about the Lord's quiet son that interests him so much? And why do his fellow captives begin to look to him for strength? Eventual Jearmin, there will also be bad language. SLIGHT HIATUS as I'm abroad.
1. Sold

The marketplace bustled.

It was the middle of July, crops were good this year, and the weather had the townsfolk in good spirits.

Salesmen shouted their prices across the crowded streets. Locals and newcomers alike fascinated by all the worldly good on offer, some even exotic and rare.

This was a good day for selling, Kitts knew. Days like this attracted the more wealthy customers in need of another worker in the house, or possibly the fields.

He spied across the busy roads, looking for potential clients. Perhaps the man with the expensive suit and the crooked nose? Or maybe the snooty looking woman, who by the looks of thing was already in possession of a few slave vermin.

A whimpering voice behind him broke his concentration. He turned his beady eyes to the cage behind him.

"Shut up, you little rats!" He hit the cage with a whip, hoping the prisoners inside would learn the message. Kitts scanned their tired faces. He had a weak group this time, he thought to himself, with the exception of one or two, maybe. A well-built blonde man in the corner was his best bet. A tall young man also caught his eye. The man simply stared into the distance, looking calmer than his fellow prisoners.

"Slimy shits," Kitts muttered to himself. He turned his attention back to the marketplace. He seemed to have a customer coming his way. An imposingly tall blonde man was weaving his way through the townsfolk towards him, with an assistant in tow.

"Ah, Lord Arlert! And to what do I owe this pleasure?" Kitts plastered an unnerving smile on his face, wringing his hands. This man was one of the richest in the area.

"I'm here to enquire about purchasing a worker." said Lord Arlert, inspecting the prisoners.

"Ah, of course. Any specifications, my lord?" Said the slave trader.

"I expect someone strong enough to deal with horses, building work and such other physical labour." The lord said.

Kitts hurried over to the cage.

"Ah, I might have one suited to your needs" he said, gesturing over to the well built blonde.

Lord Arlert stared at the prisoners.

"Very well, bring him over," ordered the lord.

Kitts moved his way over to the cage, bringing a set of iron keys from his jacket.

"Alright you scum, stay put!"

He made his way through the shackled prisoners to the blonde man. Kitts glared down at him.

"Stand up, stand up, you worthless shit!" Yelled the trader, hitting him with his whip. The man struggled to get up, but to no avail.

"Mr. Verman, that prisoner is sick. Unless you can produce a better trade, I will look elsewhere."

Kitts sighed, defeated. He scanned around the cage, and his eyes fell on the other tall man from before. He looked unusual, with strange silvery brown hair and a piercing gaze.

"Would that one please you my lord" He said, pointing at the prisoner.

Lord Arlert turned his attention to the new man.

"Very well. Bring him here."

Kitts waddled over to the strange tall man, and separated his shackles from the rest. He leaned in closely, deciding against the whip for now.

"Now listen here, you little slug, this here is one of the most powerful men in our town. You mess around and spoil my business with my richest customer, I'll personally gut you myself."

The trade brought the new prisoner to his customer. Lord Arlert inspected him closely.

"Hmm, quite tall, a bit skinny. I hope this new man of yours is up to the job, Verman." The lord said.

"Ooh yes, absolutely my lord! This one was spirited at first, but we've broke him down and taught him his place. 500 silver coins, that'll be"

Lord Arlert nonchalantly tossed a small bag of coins at the merchant.

"What is your number boy? Speak."

The silver haired man looked up at his new owner.

"My name is Jean." He swiftly received a strike on the face.

"I asked for your identification number, not a name, peasant".

Jean stumbled slightly, glaring at his master.

"6, my lord."

Not much Jean in this chapter, but this is a start!

The story will kick in more next character.


	2. Hidden objects

Jean opened his eyes.

It was the morning after being bought by the powerful lord. He felt sick and uneasy.

He only had a brief time to view his living circumstances before he was locked in a room with poor quality beds and the lights disappeared. It had been a long night. He had tried to sleep, somewhat lulled by other people's breathing. Yet somehow, a feeling of emptiness filled Jean, and he couldn't get it off his mind. This was his life now. Not the life of comfort he had always dreamed of, but one of hard work and labour.

He had never felt so alone.

Slumping out of the makeshift bed, he scanned the room. Daylight creaked through shutters.

He could just make out a few other cots, a couple containing more than one person. The room itself was dingy, with a low roof. Jean reminded himself to be careful of that. The floors were covered with reeds, possibly to cover up something he didn't really want to think about.

Sighing, Jean resigned himself back to his cot. Today was going to be awful, he just knew it. His eyes drifted close once again.

The door swung open. A loud bell filled the room, ringing in Jean's ears.

"Wake up, you lazy bastards!" shouted a short fat man in a dirty apron. Slowly, the sleeping figures began to awake. Jean's eyes snapped open, darting around the room.

The bell continued to crash.

"I said wake up!"

Everyone was now awake, looking very weary. They all scrambled to their feet. Jean stood up straight to match.

The man with the dirty apron produced a scroll from under his arm.

"1,3 and 9 are wanted down at the fields immediately! 12 and 14 are to rebuild the tower. 6 and 7 will go immediately to the cellars."

Jean recognised his number. That must mean he was wanted in the cellars. The man was leaving, and so was everyone else. In a hurry. He looked around in panic. What was he meant to do now? Just go? He didn't even know where the cellars were. Urgh, not to mention, he was starving.

"Excuse me?"

The voice broke his small panic. Jean looked up to see a tall man, with dark hair and freckles. He had a friendly face, but also looked wearisome, like everyone else here.

"I heard you arrive last night, I presumed you were new. We've never had a number 6 before."

Jean stared at the man for a moment without replying.

"I am Marco, by the way. I-I mean, number 7," stumbled the man, "I'd say it's nice to meet you, I'm just sorry it's under bad circumstances". The freckled man chuckled nervously.

Jean found the energy to smile. He wasn't expecting any kind of effort from anyone.

"I'm Jean. Don't worry about the number. Nice to meet you, Marco." The two shook hands.

"Anyway, we're down in the cellars, which unfortunately means ratting." The tall man sighed.

He began to leave his sleeping quarters. Jean stumbled to follow.

Marco lead him down a rather plain corridor, obviously hidden from the rest of this house. After a flight of darkly-lit stairs, they reached a large door. Marco began to push the beam up keeping it shut.

"Well, this is it. Could you help me with this beam, Jean?"

They both pushed the rather heavy oak door open, revealing stone steps down into the gloom. Marco picked up a torch and lead them both down.

"Sorry about the smell," He mumbled apologetically, "just be thankful none of the supervisors want to come down here, we'd be having much less fun."

Jean realised Marco was trying to make him laugh. He was grateful- he'd only just met this man but felt at ease in his company.

They entered a large stone room, with several paths leading off into the darkness. There were rows and rows of stacked shelves, some with food, some with old unwanted equipment and furniture. Also, the presence of little furry creatures scuttling around the place didn't go unnoticed by Jean.

"Shit, what was that?" He yelled. Marco jumped.

"Oh, you've seen the rats..."

Marco turned to face him.

"Sorry Jean, I'm going to have to leave you down here for a minute, I don't think we have enough poison for all of them" he said. With that, the freckled man made his way back up the stairs.

"H-hey, wait!" Started Jean. He sighed, alone in the dimly-lit gloom. He could hear water dripping in the corner. Unsure of what to do, the man walked over to some of the stacked shelves. There wasn't just old food and broken objects down here, there were unusual objects, old vials and compasses. He was sure there were a few books hidden amongst the chaos, too.

Jeans ears pricked as footsteps were heard travelling back down the stairs. He turned around.

"Oh Marco, what exactly is this cellar used- oh... you're not Marco..."

Standing in the doorway was a small teenage boy, obviously startled by his presence.

"Oh, s-sorry, I didn't realise... people were... down here..." mumbled the boy, staring at his shoes.

Jean stared at him for a moment. He was dressed differently than the people before. He was wearing a blue coat of good quality and a well made shirt. His blonde hair was cut neatly, as was the fashion for some nobles these days. Jean concluded this boy must be a member of the Arlert family, after all, he had his father's hair. Not his imposing nature and authority though, clearly. This boy seemed quite sweet.

Jean let out a small smirk.

"No need to apologise, I'm just working here". He quickly scanned the room for something to do as to appear busy to the young lord. Spying an old broom, he picked it up and began sweeping up dust.

Looking out of the corner of his eye, he saw the boy go over to where the books were hidden. The blonde boy glanced over at him working. Jean decided it was best to concentrate at the job at hand until he had left. He heard light footstep make their way to the bottom of the stairs.

"My father brought you here, didn't he?"

Jean snapped his head up. The teenager was staring at him, his big blue eyes flashing in the darkness.

"I suppose so," managed Jean. The blonde boy shifted uneasily.

"Er, please don't mention I was down here to anyone."

"Don't worry about it." Jean replied.

"Especially don't mention the books."

"Lips are sealed."

Jean turned around to continue sweeping up, but the blonde had one last thing to say.

"I'm sorry for my father." With this, the teenager disappeared up the stairs.

Jean was left bemused. What could a well-to-do rich kid mean by that? He was sorry? Sorry for a slave? He obviously looked like a slave, he was dressed in rags and was sweeping in the dark, surely the kid must have noticed. There was something different about that young boy, Jean knew. But for now, he wouldn't focus on it.

Something bit his ankle.

"Ouch!" Jean cried out. The furry culprit scuttled into a corner.

"Jean! Are you okay?"

Jean looked up to see Marco had returned.

"Yes, I'm fine. Just a rat. I think," he said, inspecting his ankle.

"Let's hope you don't get infected." commented Marco, passing him a box, "anyway, let's get to work".

Jean blinked.

"Okay, now where do we start?"


	3. Just a name

The town clock outside struck 12. Armin sighed.

Today was a Sunday, his father was likely attending the meeting at the cathedral. He and Armin were always present at the morning sermons, before a guard escorted the boy home. Armin always found it hard to pay attention, but his father was always enthusiastic, taking in every word like a sponge.

So now Armin was alone in his chambers. He lay on his poster bed, surveying the patterns on the wall paper, the decorative art on the ceiling, the long embroidered curtains.

He rolled over onto his feet, and knelt down under the bed. This is where he kept the things his father forbade. This was his collection of books.

Armin was a keen reader, but found the house library's books left something to be desired. He couldn't learn anything from the safe words those books have to offer. He preferred to read of the intriguing nature of the stars, the planets, plants, animals, how it all began. The more he read, the more he became wrapped up in the world's mysteries, their explanations, things that have yet to be explained. It was the boy's dream to travel far and wide, researching, discovering this world for himself.

Alas, at 17 years of age, Armin was trapped. He was always a weak child, and rarely travelled beyond the borders of his father's land. This family sought to protect him from the outside world.

He would daydream about flying off to foreign cities, meeting people from across the world, seeing things he could only dream of. Even seeing the ocean would be an achievement.

The book he was currently reading was a book about an isolated continent, full of large grey mammals with large ears, tusks and bizarre noses. Armin would most definitely want to see one of those.

A polite knock at the door brought Armin back into the real world. In a moment of panic, he stuffed the book behind a dresser.

"E-enter", he cried.

A small woman in the house's uniform entered.

"Master Armin, your father has returned and requests you see him in his study." She curtsied and quickly shifted out of the room.

Armin stood up and began to straighten his shirt. It was unusual for his father to ask such a thing.

Armin knocked on an ornate oak door. This was the entrance to his father's study.

"Enter." came an authoritarian voice.

He meekly turned the handle and entered the beautifully decorated room.

"Father..." he squeaked.

Lord Arlert peered over at his small son over his writing desk. He finished stamping a pile of documents before opening his mouth to speak.

"Your tutor informs me you're falling behind in fencing classes." said his father.

Armin swallowed.

"I-I have been practici-"

His father shot a single glance. Armin faltered.

"As my son, I expect you to keep my honour and reputation. A real man should be capable enough to fight, strength is what makes him. If you are not strong, then how can your faith be strong? I expect you as my son to be a man." Lord Arlert paused "You come of age in one year. One. I expect to see an improvement soon."

"Yes father." Managed the boy.

"You are dismissed".

Armin quickly nodded, walking backwards into the door. His hands fumbled with the handle. Pushing it down, he slid outside of the study.

Walking across the room, he leant on a large window facing down onto the courtyard.

Armin wasn't strong, he knew this. He was a burden on his family. He did his best for his father, but he knew what sort of son he'd prefer. Tall, strong, with unwavering devotion to his land and of course, God. The boy had spent many a day despairing over the list of things his father respected, which incidentally was a list of things Armin would never be.

Once again, he sighed, standing in the midday sun. Warmth covered his body.

The voices of the workers could be heard below in the courtyard. Slaves. Another subject Armin and his father disagreed on was forced labour. Armin detested it. Every day he felt racked with guilt living a comfortable life, while others toil away for his benefit.

Of course, he lacked the courage to confront his father about his strongly held beliefs. It was easier to go along with it.

A familiar face caught his eye. Silvery brown hair, quite tall. It was the man from the cellars the other day. He couldn't have been much older than 20, Armin thought to himself.

Armin had already noted him as strange. He was different than the others, he seemed less broken. More full of life. The truth was, he was the first of any of the workers to even speak a word to him. Although they had only exchanged a few words, Armin always had an uncanny intuition about people.

The boy felt a longing to talk to the man, to find out who he was. A name would do.

Just a name.

Surely Armin could manage that. He was scared of speaking to strangers, but now he would ask for a name.

Armin waited until nightfall to undertake his plan. The servants and workers retired to sleep around about this time, and he was ready. Hopefully he would catch the man before returning to the serving sleeping rooms.

He slipped through the doors in his quarters, and lightly ran down the corridor. Descending a sea of stairs, he passed unnoticed by some guards. At times like this, Armin was thankful for his small size.

The large door to the serving quarter proved difficult for him. He heaved and pushed, creating a big enough gap to pass through, then turned around to close it as quietly as possible.

Breathing heavily, Armin stopped for a moment. He hoped he wasn't spotted- the lord of the house wouldn't be too impressed with tonight's antics, that's for sure.

The boy got unsteadily back onto his feet, and continued the search for the silver-haired young man.

The walls down here weren't decorated anything like his part of the house. Armin shivered. He had never been here before.

Squinting in the poorly lit walls, he crept. A series of bells along the roof perked his interest. The boy would often hear them faintly ring in the morning, all at different pitches.

"They're much louder up close".

Armin jumped. He turned around to see his target.

"Y-you!" He stammered, pointing his finger at the man.

The obviously tired worker didn't bother to hide his confusion.

"Huh?" he managed.

"W-what's your name?" Armin asked, speaking too quickly.

The man stopped for a moment, contemplative.

"Jean. It's Jean".

"Jean" repeated the boy. Armin didn't know why, but a smile was forming on his face.

Okie dokie, they'll have a long getting to know each other sesh next, I swear. I can't help being slow-paced. :'(

Review, comment, re-enact, whatever it is you lovely people do.

THANKS FOR READING SO FAR.


	4. Hidden Hallway

"Jean. It's Jean."

It had been two weeks since Jean's last meeting with the strange noble boy. Naturally, it now came as a surprise that the teenager would seek him out.

He looked at the boy's face with a mixture of confusion and curiosity.

"What d'you want?" he queried, unsure what was required of him right now. The hazy light in the quiet corner was making him feel sleepy, not to mention he was worn out after a day of building foundations for a new stone structure. Working hadn't been easy on him, and he was hoping the lord's supervisor would soon allow him to transfer to the main house, where the workload was considerably less. Whatever this kid wanted, he was not about to jeopardise that goal.

"I was hoping you'd keep me company!" blurted the boy, "I-I don't really have many people to talk to, apart from my father's friends..."

Jean considered his words for a second. Did he not have any of his own friends?

"What, with your staff?" said Jean coolly.

The boy panicked.

"Oh please, I've always wanted to talk to the the workers!" he said, "I've never had the confidence before..."

Jean smirked.

"So you _are _here to mix with the peasants?" he said sarcastically. The boy looked stumped.

"Yes- I mean no, I mean, is that what it sounds like?"

Laughing at the comment, Jean realised there was little to fear from the youngest of the house. He meant no harm, unlike the guards and higher staff.

"So, do you have a name?" He asked. The boy looked up.

"My name is Armin," he replied, "sorry, I should've said..."

Jean remembered strange apology Armin made two weeks in the cellar.

"Why were you sorry for your father?" he asked, bluntly.

"Huh?"

Jean turned to face Armin directly. Maybe he misheard the boy?

"The first time we spoke, you told me you were sorry for your father."

Armin seemed to consider this for a while.

"I-I suppose I.." he started. He was looking at his feet again, wringing his hands. Jean was beginning to run out of energy. This wasn't the time to be entertaining nobles. He needed to reserve his strength to impress the masters.

"Go on," he urged. Armin looked uncomfortable.

"I suppose I... I've never been at ease with the way my father buys slaves."

Jean raised an eyebrow at this.

"I-I don't want to be pampered by people who have no choice but to be here. It isn't right. I'm sorry..." managed the boy. Jean laughed unkindly at this.

"Really? I'd love to have people fuss over me all day long." he said.

Embarrassment crept up on Armin's face.

"You must think I'm a silly little rich kid."

Sighing, Jean looked at Armin. The boy was really trying with him. It was rather sweet.

"You know, Armin, I don't think I've ever spoken to someone like you before. Anyway, I'm off to sleep before they realise I'm missing." Seeing the teenager's defeated face, he added, "We'll talk another day."

Armin beamed.

"Wha-really?!" he said. Jean nodded.

"Sure. But try to be seen. I'm not too fond of being beaten."

"I promise I'll be careful, thank you very much, Jean!" said the boy, before turning around and slipping down the hallway. The lights faded with him.

Jean stared into space. Another strange meeting in a strange place with a strange boy. Trying to think nothing more of it, he turned around and headed to the sleeping quarters.

END CHAPTER

Sorry this isn't the best chapter in the world, and kinda short. I've been so busy at the moment. But I shall be back on form soon!


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